


homesick for a better time.

by twoheadedcalf



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb Widogast-centric, Depression, Disordered Eating, Gen, Loneliness, Post-Canon, Retirement, Violent Intrusive Thoughts, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoheadedcalf/pseuds/twoheadedcalf
Summary: i was meant to survive, notlive,caleb thinks and wishes he hadn't.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 101





	homesick for a better time.

**Author's Note:**

> please heed the tags. most of them are in passing but better to be safe than sorry.

he'd thought rabbits would eventually make a home in his yard, when he first got the house, or at least visit. he'd thought they'd be interested in the flowers or maybe the vegetables he tried to grow the first couple of years.

they never did. not even a squirrel or hare he had to shoo away came along. not even a mouse forcing him to set a trap, not even a mouse for nix to hunt.

caleb had thought a lot of things when he first settled, all of them wrong.

*

caleb built the house himself and it came surprisingly fast. he'd thought it would be one of those ironies of life — _slow to build, quick to demolish._

but it was easy. and that left him feeling a little off kilter. maybe it would be nice to think of that as a sign, in the long run, but really, it's just— life.

it's smaller than his parents' house ever was — probably because it's not housing a family. only him. and frumpkin. and nix now.

still, he builds a small guest bedroom, facing his own, hoping. _always_ hoping.

*

the barn and the coop and the pen are built on a whim. his house is full of books and cat toys and empty rooms. his house is surrounded by petunias and roses and daisies and empty fields.

he builds the chicken coop and the pen and the barn and then he buys the chickens and the goats.

it's familiar— but not.

his parents had _a few_ chickens and one crotchety old goat. but they'd gotten along better with vegetables — so many green beans and so much cabbage.

the carrots and the tomatoes and the potatoes he'd tried to plant, that first year in the house — they'd been… sad.

( _he'd_ been sad. it's embarrassing to think about the few tears he had dropped over it. _pathetic_. but it was the only thing he had to care about and he couldn't even nurture it.)

*

that was a lie — he doesn't build the pen and the coop and the barn on a whim.

he builds them just for something to _do_.

because some days, well— he doesn't get out of bed. most days, in fact.

nix' food stays in his bedroom, for convenience's sake. it's not hard to mage hand some food onto her plate.

it's not hard to get up just to eat and use the bathroom.

sometimes not even eat.

it's not hard to stay in bed all day and have frumpkin rumble against his chest.

it's very easy, in fact. too easy. even if it weighs on him.

so he gets chickens and goats. for something to do. half hopes a fox will come along just so he can defend something again.

*

his house is adorable and he'd like to say that's an accident. but it's not.

sometimes caleb will wake up with an itch under his skin that has him going outside and rearranging the garden no matter the weather, no matter if he's had breakfast yet or not (— he hasn't).

the roses should go here— no, _here_ — this way they might attract more birds— this way may stop the stinging caterpillars from eating them— this, yes, by color, no, by _name_ —

and then he blinks. and stops.

it's never done. but he can never pull through the next stretch, the energy oozing out of him like a balloon that's been popped.

it still looks pretty.

there's dirt under his fingernails but the satisfaction of finished work never comes. or the satisfaction of having somebody else see it.

there's only the dirt. always the dirt.

*

sometimes, he'll bend and fit himself into one of the weird corners and nooks of the house. and just watch.

it's weird how quickly a room can change. he'd thought the living room was homely but it's really just messy. he'd thought his bedroom was organized but it's really just cluttered. he'd thought the guest bedroom was spacious but it's really just empty.

sometimes caleb wishes he could fit himself into different corners of _life._ like this:

_look, here's what it would have been like if ikithon's training had killed you_ or _look, this is what it would have been like if vergesson had killed you_ or _look, if astrid and eodwulf had— look, if fjord— look, if essik— look, this one is_ **_special_** _, here's what it would have been like if someone actually loved you._

sometimes, caleb will bend and break to fit himself into a weird corner of the house just to _hide_. his back will arch, his head will fit between his bent knees, his arm wrapped around the weird circumference of his body and he'll _hide_.

he doesn't know from _what_. he's afraid to ask.

(sometimes, nix will fit herself under the bend of his knees and purr as he muffles his cries. _gut katze, gut katze—)_

*

it's not easy to stay in bed all day when you have chickens cuckooing, clucking to bed, goats bleating restlessly.

so everyday, caleb gets up and feeds his little black cat. feeds his chickens and snags a few eggs, if he's lucky. feeds his goats and milks them, if he's lucky.

feeds himself, if he's lucky.

it's not that easy to stay in bed but there's only so many chickens. there are only so many goats. and there are so, _so_ many hours in the day.

*

sometimes, when his muscles are too tired and his bones creak too much, caleb will think _i should be dead by now_.

his hair has gotten longer throughout the decades. lush and thick from years of good, if not regular, food. well taken care of, because every night he goes through the motions of untangling it until his fingertips tingle and he actually feels something.

there's more salt than pepper in it now.

_you look very distinct_ , essik had said years ago, when his temples first started to gray. that's what he'd said but caleb knows he meant _you look dead on the ground already_.

essik always looked younger than him and he still does, even pushing at one hundred and forty.

_i should be dead by now_ , he thinks and it's a ridiculous thought. he's barely pushing into his fifties and humans live much longer than that in good conditions.

_i was meant to survive, not_ **_live_** , caleb thinks and wishes he hadn't.

somewhere, there's a clock ticking. and he can't stop searching for it.

*

one year, he plants lavender and thinks of mollymauk and thinks of borrowed time.

*

he's never done research on flower meanings before. he's too afraid to find out. it's enough that they look pretty. it has to be.

it's enough that his house is sturdy, that his animals are healthy, and that his garden is pretty. it has to be.

it has to be.

*

one year, he enters a flower arrangement competition in the nearby town, just for something to do. just for something to show.

the town is small but the people seem content. most of them seem to have already been aware of his weird little house at the mouth of the forest. they simply do not care. nothing new there. nothing surprising.

but the people are friendly and it's _fun_. there's good, cheap food and there's a book stand and there's little kids laughing and one of the judges flirts with him and—

caleb doesn't win. doesn't even get second place. but he _smiles_.

he takes a guy home and it's awkward and unfamiliar but it's also:

_"you're so pretty."_

and

_"hm— you taste good—"_

and

_gentle fingers carefully opening him up_

and

_"hnnng— oh!" "you okay?" "i just— came." "yeah, i noticed." "ja, it's just— it's been a while." "well— i'm glad."_

and caleb smiles.

*

he starts selling eggs and goat milk in town — just for something to do, just for something to show — and he doesn't make a lot of money but it's not like he needs it, so it's fine.

he even sees flower arrangement contest guy walking down main street once and they share a private smile. 

it's not a lot but it's better.

so next he hears about a festival in town, he invites a few of his friends.

*

no one comes.

which is fine. he wasn't competing or anything so it's not like it was a special occasion.

caleb still gets some corn dogs to eat. he still talks to the book stand person about their favorite books. still does some magic tricks to a trio of impressionable kids.

and then he goes home.

*

there are no mirrors in the house.

there used to be a simple one hanging on the bathroom wall but caleb had to take it down after he stopped recognizing himself.

the slope of his nose is the same, the shape of his eyes is the same. even the crow's feet at the corners of them aren't new.

and yet, when he looks at himself in the mirror, all he sees is a black hole.

*

sometimes, he'll be watching the goats graze or the chickens peck and something insidious and wild invades his mind.

it'd just be so easy to take one of the chickens by the neck and snap it dead. so easy to slide a dagger into one of the goats' neck and bleed it dry. so easy to slam his head against the barn's sharp edge until it cracks open. so easy to walk and walk until his feet bled, so easy to walk and walk and never come back.

so, so easy.

*

there's a river, somewhere in the woods behind his house. it doesn't freeze in the winter and it's deep and—

*

his old journal is nestled under his bed, where he and nix hide sometimes.

it's a small abyss of time when compared to the rest of his life — what was that, two or three years?

he knows, of course. three years, seven months, three days. he tries not to think about it. it's all he can think about.

*

there's this one small goat that he didn't buy, actually. one that he birthed as its mother bled and cried.

it jumps and bleats happily when caleb comes close to it and follows him around as he feeds and milks the others.

sometimes he'll gather it into his arms and pet it and wonder if he's kind. wonder if that's not enough in his case. wonder if that's not enough for anyone who's not an animal.

*

there's not really a lot of archeart temples in wildemount.

most of their temples are found in tal'dorei but the risk of running into essik there, of having him see the soft vulnerability of caleb's attempted faith and be disgusted by it, keeps him away.

so caleb goes to uthodurn, half hoping he'll run into reani there. she probably looks the same, even after all these years, just like yasha does.

he doesn't see her. but there's a small temple there, mostly empty when caleb visits it, and the aura of magic around it feels comforting.

later, he hangs the archeart symbol from a decade and a half ago on the living room wall.

it feels like a friend.

*

fjord comes over sometimes and it almost feels normal. he will sneeze at nix and try to catch a chicken and compliment the flowers and it's almost good.

but fjord doesn't come often and he never stays long. because he has a life.

and sometimes — most times —, caleb wishes—

but his guest bedroom remains empty.

*

sometimes he will wake up in the middle of the night and remember (he's never forgotten) astrid's dead eyes, eodwulf's chokehold arms and he wonders and he wants—

but what good would it do? he can't have them here, this house, it's not what they were made for (it's not what _he_ was made for). and he can't be with them, wherever they are. right?

_right?_

caleb tosses and turns until sunrise.

*

it's weirdly comforting having a cat sit on your chest and lick your tears away with her sandpapery tongue.

caleb wishes he didn't know that.

he lets out a choked laugh into the night and no one hears it.

*

essik rarely visits and when he does, he never spends the night.

he'd truly thought that someday, they would—

but now it's been almost two decades and caleb walks with his shoulders slumped and essik hasn't aged a day.

sometimes it's hard to look at him.

*

it's awful, actually, seeing the years waste away. sometimes — most times — caleb thinks he'd rather lose time.

*

when she visits, yasha brings bouquets from her flower shop in zadash and she picks nix up with gentle hands.

_when_ she visits.

*

most nights — every night — caleb slips into his unmade bed and hopes against hope that something soft will make its home inside his hollow chest.

he's tired. he's so, so tired.

**Author's Note:**

> find me as @bicalebwidogast on twitter.


End file.
